


A Wild Night

by parksouth



Category: South Park
Genre: Drinking, Drugs, Kenny being a tease, M/M, Party, Token being a mom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:55:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27665030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parksouth/pseuds/parksouth
Summary: Dragged out to a party he didn't even want to attend, Craig Tucker finds himself stuck between finding his way home and the cheeky grin of a hot blond.
Relationships: Kenny McCormick/Craig Tucker
Comments: 2
Kudos: 65





	A Wild Night

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote about 97% in 2017, grew up a bit, stopped interacting with fandom. 2020 a pandemic happens and so does immense boredom. I start looking and cringing at my old writing. Suddenly I'm editing, and A Wild Night is complete after 3 years. As much as I edited, the writing is still pretty much the same, there was just too much to totally rewrite to my new skill level. Sorry if the writing feels like it suddenly shifts in style closer to the end, which was written in the last few months, but I did clean the whole story up quite a bit. 
> 
> Don't do drugs, and definitely don't take them from strangers.
> 
> Enjoy.

Craig didn’t exactly want to go to some random party on a Thursday night; he had an eight thirty class the next morning after all. Yet, somehow, he found himself sauntering into a strangers’ cramped house after hours of Clyde’s persistent begging. 

“Live a little!” Clyde had said. “You’ve only gone to like, one party this year and it’s already second semester! You don’t have to drink, just come. Token is bored of partying with just me.”  


Even while having two of his closest friends with him, Craig knew he was bound to have a miserable time. 

The crisp night air was immediately lost to hot breath once he crossed the threshold of the house. Bodies were squished like sardines, pressed against each other and the walls. Despite the lack of space, they somehow still found a way to move and dance. Craig cringed at the salty smell of sweat mixed with the putrid stench of stale alcohol; it permeated throughout the building. 

The host was obviously a total moron for letting so many people inside their home. The place wasn’t that huge, maybe slightly bigger than a town house and it was apparent that it was at max capacity.  


Craig didn’t think of himself as a prude, he enjoyed a good party from time to time. He could get behind a drunken night with friends—but that was just it, a night with friends. The people surrounding him were mere figures. 

He couldn’t understand why Clyde loved partying; it was probably because he was such an extrovert. Clyde likely knew a good chunk of the people currently in the house, and if he didn’t know them, he would chat them up and have their Twitter handles within an hour.

That was another reason Craig preferred small get togethers. During large parties, Clyde would run off and chat up a new group of people, leaving Craig by himself for the rest of the night. At least when Token tagged along, he hung around Craig for a minimum of thirty minutes before getting lost in the sea of people. 

Tweek never came to parties. Clyde never bothered trying to convince him otherwise anymore. Tweek said parties were bad for his anxiety, and Clyde was a decent enough individual to understand that. Though with one less person to convince, Clyde focused his inconceivably endless energy toward pulling Craig along.

The deeper he walked into the crowded space, the more reasonable it seemed to come up with an escape plan. If he turned around and shoved past a swarm of sweaty bodies to make it to the front door, Craig could easily find his way back to his apartment. He didn’t really pay attention to where they were walking with Clyde chattering the entirety of the short trip. He just knew their shared place wasn’t far from the party.

Lost in thought, Craig had already unsurprisingly lost sight of Clyde and disappointedly lost sight of Token as well. 

Pushing past his momentary frustrations, he decided the least he could do was get mildly buzzed to make the night go by quicker. As much as he wanted to march back outside, Craig knew he couldn’t without at least telling his friends first. Clyde tended to get anxious while drunk, and Craig certainly didn’t need a repeat of the hysterics Clyde subjected him to the last time he wordlessly abandoned a party.

With a bit of wandering, Craig located the kitchen. There were two refrigerators, both presumed to be filled with alcohol. There were a countless number of coolers piled high with ice and drinks scattered about as well as a sizable keg with stacks of solo cups sitting atop the counter. 

The kitchen wasn’t much different from the living area, people were squished together, talking loudly to be heard over the blaring dubstep, nursing cups and bottles alike. A group of frat boys were playing beer pong at the kitchen table while another group of drunk idiots were stumbling over to the keg.

The booze was another thing that had Clyde so enthusiastically pulling Craig out of their front door. Apparently, the guys who rent the house throw huge parties annually. Nobody knew exactly how they would get the money to supply alcohol rather than telling people to bring their own. The rumor, according to Clyde, is that one of them is a big-time drug dealer with a generous heart. Craig found that hard to believe.

Craig snatched up a random unopened bottle from a cooler and retreated to the living area. In there he figured he would be subjected to less bumbling drinking games as well as find a place to sit and brood.

Craig managed to slink his way toward the couch, avoiding the aimless drunken hip-checks as he went. He somehow snatched an end seat. He felt a pang of gratitude as he sat, resting his drink on the arm of the sofa. It was nothing short of a miracle that the couch hadn’t been totally taken over.

Most people were up and about, dancing and chatting, but some drunk couple was making out on the cushions next to the one he occupied, successfully taking up the rest of the couch space. Craig tore his eyes away from the heated couple, sipped on his beer, and surveyed the room. 

He noticed the space was full of coloured lights that were bouncing around the walls and dancers. He quickly located the source, being one of those cheap, black, light spewing disco balls. It precariously balanced on the top of a bulky outdated TV. The ball rotated quickly, along with the beat of the music, spreading dots of blue, red, and purple lights across the crowd. Satisfied with his find, Craig shifted his attention elsewhere.

He finally spotted Clyde, who was doing exactly what he had predicted, which was laughing it up with a group of strangers. He looked like he was already decently drunk. He had always been a bit of a lightweight. Clyde seemed to be having a grand ol’ time without him.

Craig’s urge to go home was stronger than ever, but the fear of leaving a drunken Clyde alone to drown in his own vomit kept him seated. Though, Token was in the house somewhere, and unlike his other moronic friend, Token could actually control himself and watch over Clyde. 

Craig was newly prepared to stand and walk out, totally abandoning the spark of worry he had had for his friend not thirty seconds prior. If he texted Clyde that he was leaving, the jock wouldn’t work himself up trying to find Craig later in the night. 

Quickly convincing himself that a ‘see you at home’ text would suffice coupled with the fact that Token wouldn’t let the brunet die, Craig suddenly felt comfortable enough to ditch. 

He gave his neck a slow crack, readying himself to stand. Right as he was about to move a figure stepped in front of him, instantly ruining any plan he had to leave.

“You look bored as fuck,” the guy chuckled. Craig looked up from his seat to see who stopped his grand escape. He didn’t recognize him in the slightest. 

From what he could tell, the guy was tall; they were probably the same height. His shaggy blond hair obscured a bit of his blue eyes and his white wife-beater clung to his chest with the dampness of party sweat. The smugness of his voice and the smirk plastered on his face made Craig automatically hate him.

“I can’t have anyone being bored at my party.”

So this was the dumbass throwing the party, Craig thought as he moved to stand again. “I was just leaving.” 

“Woah, you can’t be leaving yet!” the blond laughed, not moving from his place in front of Craig. “The night just started!”

“I don’t even know you dude, why do you care if I leave?” he snarled. The guy was starting to piss him off at lightning speed.

“You do now, I’m Kenny. And you are…?”

“Out of here,” Craig deadpanned as he rose to his feet. He didn’t care if that guy was in his way. They stood nose to nose, yet Kenny still wouldn’t move. Being that close, Craig could smell him—he reeked of sweat, but not alcohol. 

“You’re not drunk,” Craig stated, more so to himself than to Kenny.

“Nope! It’s my turn to be sober.” Kenny continued to laugh, unfazed by Craig’s curtness. “My housemates and I take turns staying sober during these things. It’s a rule we made up, one of us must always be sober to make sure everyone is alright. Can’t have any accidents on our watch! It was my turn tonight.”

Craig rolled his eyes in annoyance. He was irritated that a random guy decided to make his life that much harder. He didn’t care to know about how him and his roommates plan their mind-numbing bashes. 

“Look dude, I’m pretty sober myself so if you’re worried about me walking out of here and driving or something it’s fine. I walked anyways.”  
“You didn’t come with friends?”

“I did, but they’re dickheads and are somewhere in here having a great time without me. Now if you’ll excuse me,” Craig spat, shoving past Kenny. He didn’t get far, a wall of bodies blocked him in every direction.

“Man, you’re grumpy.” Kenny smirked while he weaseled his way back in front of Craig. “I have something that could help with that.” Kenny reached into the front pocket of his jeans and pulled out a Ziploc bag filled with seven small pastel coloured tablets. Kenny opened the baggie and pulled out one of the green pills and offered it to Craig. “I like you Mr. Grumpy, you can have one free of charge.”

Craig hesitantly accepted the pill and turned it over in his hand, inspecting it. “What is it?” he inquired, eyes not looking away from the small playboy bunny logo imprinted on the drug.

“It’s ecstasy dude. You know, ‘molly’, ‘E’, ‘the love drug?’ You’re all happy and shit when you take it.”

Craig knew what molly was, he’d heard of it, but he’d never seen it in person. In all honestly the hardest drug he’d ever done was weed. 

Craig was bored, and he would only end up watching reruns of Red Racer until four in the morning if he went home. He glanced at the tablet one last time before popping the pill into his mouth, chewing it slowly. It tasted like chalk and burned his nose, so he chewed a bit faster so it would be in his mouth for as little time as possible. The pill left a bitter taste in its wake.

“Dude, holy shit!” Kenny burst, his brows were knit in complete awe and his smile beamed wide. “You usually like, swallow it whole, or crush it and put it in water to drink. Only crazy fucks chew it! You’re gonna be in for a trip, man.”

“Whatever,” Craig sighed, though internally he was kind of freaking out. He was instantly regretting taking a random drug from a stranger. They would have to put, ‘died doing something stupid,’ on his grave in big bold lettering. 

“So, like…when does it kick in?” 

“In a half hour or so. So, you’ve really never done molly before, huh?”

Craig thought that that much was obvious at that point. 

“No.” 

Kenny laughed and clapped a hand onto Craig’s shoulder, causing him to flinch slightly. 

“Well, you’ll have a great time. I’m gonna go check on the losers in the kitchen now and make sure they didn’t drink themselves to death. But don’t worry, I won’t leave you for long Mr. Grumpy. I wanna make sure you have a smooth trip! I’m responsible after all!” he exclaimed. “I’ll be right back!” 

With that Kenny was gone, squeezing his way through the dense cloud of bodies. Craig watched him go until he could no longer see him over the heads tight crowd. 

Not only did Craig take drugs from a stranger, but said stranger fled the scene. He figured his chances of dying in the next hour were exponentially high.

Craig turned around to see if he could reclaim his seat on the couch. He thought it was probably best to sit down until the drug made him do whatever people on molly usually do. All Kenny had said was that it made you happy, which wasn’t a very helpful piece of insight. 

Craig cheered internally when he noticed that the couple that had previously occupied the couch were now gone. Before retaking his seat, Craig snatched another beer from a cooler that was tucked next to the couch. If he were going to sit around, he couldn’t be empty handed, he thought that would probably seem weird to any onlookers. 

The couch smelled of sex, something he hadn’t noticed before. He tried ignoring it by drinking and continuing his people watching. 

Clyde was gone again; Craig had no idea where he could have run off to in such a small place. He wondered for a moment if maybe he should try to find his friends and tell them he was on drugs. With his luck, he would never find those assholes and would end up dying alone in a bathtub. 

Craig had no idea how long he sat there drinking, but his paranoia eventually eased, and the music started to seem really, really good. Better than it did before at least.

He was suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to move his body to the rhythm. Craig knew it was a stupid thought. He sucked at dancing and honestly hated it, but his body told him otherwise with the subconscious tap of his foot.

Craig placed his now empty drink on the floor next to his seat and stood. The room around him was warped slightly, making everything seem a bit askew, but he didn’t care about what the room looked like, the music was fantastic! 

Craig made his way over to where most people were dancing, he giggled to himself the whole way, unable to retreat his growing smile. He thought the party was amazing, and everyone in attendance was subsequently amazing. He couldn’t remember why he didn’t want to come.

The closer he got to the group of dancers the more the itch to move became unbearable. 

A short, very clearly drunk blonde girl who was flaunting an obscene amount of cleavage, drunkenly approached him. 

“You’re hot!” she chimed, clumsily grabbing at Craig’s wrists, “Dance with me!” 

Without hesitation he brought his body closer to hers, her breasts squished comfortably on his midsection. 

“Okay!” he laughed, wriggling his arms out of her grip to properly grab onto her waist. 

They danced for hours, or years maybe; at least that’s what it had felt like in his drug induced stupor. He briefly wondered if time was real. Craig didn’t know or care, he just knew that right then he was having the most fun he’d ever had in his life. 

The girl was pretty and the coloured lights flashing around the room made her round face and bodacious hair glimmer—literally glow; the lights were magic.

Just as quickly as he had become interested in dancing, he lost it. A new desire to find the light source overcame him, flooding his brain with the compulsion to bask in it. He knew he had located it earlier.  


He swiftly unstuck the girl’s vice grip on his ass to better peer around the room. 

“What are you doing?” the blonde had asked, but Craig didn’t reply, he was already leaving the dancefloor to approach the spinning ball of light. 

After fighting his way through the crowd, Craig stood in front of the TV and stared at the light ball silently, leg slightly tapping as he couldn’t seem to stand still. He thought it was even more breath taking up close. 

The colours spewing from the object moved him emotionally, there was such beauty in them. It meant something to him, but he couldn’t quite place that meaning. 

He thought it was likely that God was trying to communicate with him—or perhaps it was his dead childhood guinea pig. His lip quivered slightly at the onslaught of memories related to his old pet.  


He hoped Stripe was okay. When he had died, Craig’s mom had told him that Stripe was in guinea pig heaven, and who the hell was he to doubt his mom. He thought that perhaps the lights were a physical manifestation of guinea pig heaven. The blue beam was particularly enchanting, it was Stripe’s favourite colour after all. 

Craig was starting to get a bit overstimulated; his eyes brimmed with unshed tears as he lost himself in the allure of the lights. Before he could start the uncontrollable flood, someone shoved past him harshly, knocking him out of his trance.

Craig stumbled a bit from the impact and begrudgingly tripped over his own clunky feet, instantly falling to the floor. He was close to the wall and braced his hands against it on impact.  


It didn’t hurt, he didn’t really feel like he was in his own body for the most part, so pain wasn’t a real issue. Craig sat there for a moment, on his knees facing the wall, arms outstretched in front of him, giving himself a perfect view of his own hands. 

He noted that his fingers were creepily long and boney, they reminded him of twigs. He was surprised they didn’t all break when he slammed into the wall. The lights from the disco ball danced across his hands and Craig swore he could feel the colours. The reds felt warm and the blues cold, and the purples were some sort of in between he couldn’t describe. The word lukewarm had slipped his mind entirely.

Craig began to stand on shaky legs, hands trailing up the wall for support but also so he could touch all the colours. Once he managed to stand at his full height, Craig began to run his hands along the area of wall he faced. His arms stretched a wide expanse of the surface in all directions. He was disappointed upon realizing he couldn’t exactly reach the lights that spun near the ceiling. 

He didn’t want the lights higher on the wall to feel left out of all his caressing. He decided the most logical action would be to jump. Craig laughed loudly at his realization; his grin so fierce it sent soreness to his flushed cheeks. Craig jumped and smacked at the wall repeatedly, thankful for his long arms. He thought he’d die if he couldn’t touch all the colours. 

The amount of fun he was having with the lights was intense to the point that it had to be illegal. It was so wholeheartedly enjoyable for him that he knew he couldn’t possibly hoard all the excitement for himself. He had to find Clyde and show him immediately. 

The instant that he whipped himself away from the wall, as if possessed, his teeth began to grind together painfully and uncontrollably. He couldn’t find it in himself to care though, he was too focused on his mission. 

Craig stumbled a bit from the momentum of his movement and shoved the neckline of his t-shirt into his mouth while he regained his footing. He unconsciously chewed his shirt, not unlike a cow gnawing its afternoon grain. It helped ease the teeth grinding considerably. 

With saliva unknowingly making its slow crawl down his neck, Craig started to walk backwards from his previous spot, eyes trained on the dancing lights. He was convinced they would disappear if he looked away. 

He walked into about fifteen people, none of which were Clyde. A few of them snapped at him as they bumped shoulders, but Craig didn’t care, the lights were far more important than some drunken assholes personal space.

“Drink it you pussy!” a bellowing voice rang from behind Craig. 

He tore his eyes away from the wall, which he had managed to significantly distance himself from, to find the source of the shouting. He had somehow managed to walk backwards all the way to the threshold of the kitchen. 

Craig ceased chewing on his shirt, ignoring the cold wet spot that now clung to his neck. He peeked his head into the room—he felt like a secret agent or something—like he shouldn’t be there.  


“I’m doing it holy shit, chill!” a small redhead barked. His hands were clenched into tight fists, his nose was scrunched in visible irritation. He looked far too pissed off to be enjoying the party.

There were a bunch of people in the kitchen, many of which were crowded around the dining table doing shots. Craig watched as the ginger half-heartedly punched the hefty dude to his right and knocked back whatever was in his shot glass. He made an uncomfortable grimace as he finished.

“Ha! Your face! Do you need a chaser Jew?” the big guy cackled. He leaned over the redhead to reach for his own shot and knocked it back quickly without a hint of discomfort. He gave the ginger a challenging grin while slamming the glass back down on the table as if to dare someone to pour him another.

“No, fuck you! I’m not a pussy!” the smaller hissed, jabbing the larger in the chest. The gesture only caused the former to laugh harder. 

The larger guy, seemingly unfazed by his counterparts growing rage, snatched a bottle of dark liquid off the table. He wordlessly poured another shot and slid it across the table toward the ginger, his mischievous smirk never once faltering.

That looked like a lot of fun to Craig. He wanted to do shots too.

Craig stumbled into the kitchen, but most people were too plastered to notice his unruly presence. He walked up to the table in search of a cup. He mindlessly selected one that had clearly been used and decided it was his, too high to even momentarily ponder how that could be a bad idea. 

A bottle of mysterious liquid was being passed around and poured hastily and gracelessly by every drunk who got their hands on it. When it came to Craig, he nearly dropped it. He giggled at his own falter and poured the contents into his solo cup, spilling it a bit as he did so before he thoughtlessly passed it off to the next person. 

“Dude, that’s like, four shots of straight vodka you just poured in there.”

The ginger was nervously rubbing his index finger around the brim of the shot glass the other guy shoved toward him; it was still full. It almost seemed as though he sparked conversation with Craig to avoid his drunken demise. Craig had nearly forgot about him.

Craig looked behind himself to confirm he was the one being spoken to, there were tons of people at the partly after all. After doing a clumsy spin on the spot, he turned back to face the ginger. 

“Really? Cool,” he beamed. Craig was excited to try something new. He’d taken vodka shots before but never four at once, he thought it could be an exhilarating experience. 

“This guy looks fucked off his ass,” the big guy added, jutting himself into the conversation. The bottle of dark liquid was still clenched in his meaty grip. “I don’t want him dying in my house.”

The snide tone in the big guys voice caused a river of irritation to barrel through Craig’s veins. He felt like he had to prove himself. He was almost positive he wouldn’t die. He momentarily glanced down at the clear liquid, catching a quick glimpse of his dilapidated reflection in it before chugging it all back in one fowl swoop.

“Shit dude.” The little ginger gaped, looking slightly impressed. Though, Craig could have misread his expression. It could just have easily been concern that laced through the lines in his onlooker’s pale forehead. 

Craig laughed at his expression; the gingers face quickly became more distorted with every uncontrolled hiccup. The vodka after taste burned, but in a pleasant way. The burn felt euphoric, better than it ever had before. Craig briefly wondered if he were a masochist, he had an insatiable urge to feel that burn again.

“This guy could probably out drink Stan and that fucker is a borderline alcoholic,” the big dude jibed, finally returning the bottle to its place on the kitchen table. 

“What’s your names?” Craig inquired, fingers tapping along the edge of the hardwood table. Craig didn’t want to keep calling them big guy and small ginger in his head.

“I’m Kyle,” the ginger introduced, “and this is Eric.” He gestured toward the big guy harshly. Eric had crossed his arms and began glaring at Craig like he was the dirt under his shoes.

“Wow, those are nice names,” Craig gawked, completely ignoring the newfound tension. He was giving his best attempt at small talk despite how blurred his vision was becoming. “Your moms deserve a medal or something for picking such cool names. Maybe I could give them a high five if they’re around?” His mouth started moving on his own, filter completely lost. He truly had no idea what he was saying.

“Man, you are fucked,” Eric chuckled, suddenly dropping his defensive stance. His arms went slack at his sides and his glare retreated. His previous sly grin made a quick and permanent return. 

Craig wondered why Eric was laughing. His statement seemed like a perfectly reasonable request in his mind. Perhaps they were hiding their moms from him or something.

“What are you on?” Eric asked through his low chuckles. He began pouring himself another shot. “It’s obvious you’re not just drunk.” He tossed back the shot as quickly and flawlessly as the first. 

Without looking away from Craig, he began tapping the still full shot glass that was placed in front of Kyle, obviously trying to remind the redhead of his task. Kyle flinched upon notice.

Craig paused momentarily, trying to recall what drug he was given. 

“Ecstasy!” he blurted, giving himself a victorious mental pat on the back upon recollection.

Kyle sighed and rolled his eyes, clearly choosing to ignore Eric’s incessant tapping. Craig worried that if he rolled them too hard, they would get lost in his skull.  
“Kenny gave it to you didn’t he.” 

“Yeah, yeah, him!” Craig chuckled. “I really like him! Where is he?” Craig did a quick survey of the room but there was no dirty wifebeater in sight to his dismay.

“I have no idea but if he gave you that shit he better collect your ass soon ‘cause I’m not watching you,” Eric scoffed. He seemed to be giving up on getting Kyle to take his shot with such a subtle tactic. 

He instead picked up the small glass and forced it between Kyle’s fingers, causing the latter to jump out of his shoes. Kyle somehow managed not to spill a drop despite jolting so violently. Eric let out a smug huff through his nose.

For some reason, Craig found himself enamoured by the people in front of him. They were eccentric in the most entertaining way possible. Watching Eric and Kyle interact was like physically stepping into a sitcom. Before Craig could begin to prod with more personal questions, another guy stumbled into his prereferral vision and dramatically flopped himself into Kyle’s unsuspecting arms.

“Jesus Christ Stan!” Kyle yelped, clearly surprised by the contact. He fumbled momentarily before acquiring a firmer hold on the drunk that was growing slack in his embrace.

“K-Kyle,” Stan sobbed, “I love you, man.” 

Kyle blinked a few times before visibly tightening his already seemingly crushing grip as the former’s head lulled like a rag doll on his shoulder. Kyle pat his back gingerly, his eyes darted around the room frantically, clearly in search of something. 

It looked as though the scene were a common occurrence, Kyle’s reaction went from shock to utter disappointment within seconds of the drunk’s appearance. Craig watched Kyle let out a low sigh of annoyance right as his eyes landed on a fold out chair leaned against the wall.

“No, just no. I’m not sticking around for one of Stan’s annual drunken breakdowns,” Eric started, grabbing a solo cup as he pouted. 

He sent Kyle’s full shot glass a frustrated glare before sending the same daggers at the back of the drunk guys head. It seemed like he knew the chances of Kyle taking his last shot went from slim to absolutely none. 

“Screw you guys, I’m gonna get laid.” He was out of the kitchen in a matter of seconds. He left so quickly that Craig was positive he was The Flash in disguise.

Tearing his gaze from Eric’s hasty exit, Craig turned his attention back toward the still sobbing Stan. Kyle had somehow managed to reach the fold out chair, pop it open, and have his drunk friend seated all without Craig’s notice.

“I’m gonna get you some water, stay here.” 

Stan lifted his head from his hands to watch Kyle leave.

Craig finally had a good angle to look at the guys face. He was shocked to see an eerily familiar one staring back at him. 

Stan’s inky black hair laid messily on his forehead, his electric blue eyes blinked dumbly, his sharp jaw glistened with what appeared to be vomit. He recognised those features albite their dishevelled appearance.

Craig marched over to where Stan sat and snatched his head between shaky hands. Stan jumped slightly, looking thoroughly confused, but made no move to pray away Craig’s intrusion. 

Craig tried to make what he was doing more obvious, he tried to tell him telepathically, which seemed to fail when he was only given a blank stare in return. 

Craig began to gingerly squish Stan’s cheeks between his hands. His skin felt soft, softer than the gooiest of marshmallows. Craig figured he had likely sacrificed something very important to get such supple skin.

“W-What are you doing,” Stan quietly slurred. He finally raised his arms in a lazy attempt to remove Craig’s hands from his face. He was far too drunk to put any real force behind it. He was obviously beyond the point of mental return for the night.

“Duuuuuude,” Craig murmured. “You look exactly like me.” 

“No, I d-on’t,” Stan weakly defended. “You look like me.” He pointed toward himself in an uncoordinated fashion.

“You stole my face man,” Craig croaked, he started to panic a little, they looked so similar they could easily be mistaken for brothers, if not twins. His mind raced for an answer as to how some dirty drunk managed to steal his face without his notice. 

Craig removed his hands from their squashing grip on Stan’s face and shot them towards his own. He traced his lanky fingers across the crook of his nose and hallows of his cheeks, calm returning as quickly as it had dissipated. Feeling his own facial skin had reassured him that it hadn’t fallen off randomly during the night.

“Stan, drink this.” 

Craig didn’t notice Kyle’s return. He likely came back while Craig was busy caressing his own face.

“Kyle, your friend stole my face,” Craig stated, already having forgotten he had felt it less than twenty seconds before.

“You need to sit too,” Kyle sighed as he reached for another pull out chair. 

Kyle propped it open next to Stan, and with a surprisingly strong grip on his shoulders, forced Craig to sit. 

Craig didn’t want to sit, he wanted to know why he had a doppelganger. Craig immediately stood back up upon Kyle’s release, only to turn back toward Stan and sit on the floor directly in front of him. Kyle grumbled in frustration.

“Maybe we’re twins,” Craig whispered, leaning in closer to inspect Stan’s face. He noted the small scruff of hair sprouting on his chin, much like his own when he forgot to shave. “When’s your birthday?” He poked at Stan’s nose as he waited for a reply. The only response he received was a furrowed brow and glossy, tired eyes.

Seeing Stan’s confusion had Craig breaking down into an unexpected fit of laughter. 

He was hysterical, tears welled in his eyes from his newly persistent giggling. Craig dropped his hands from Stan’s nose and pressed them against the floor to help hold himself up. 

He stared down at the small cream tiles; they were spinning. The image of the dancing floor tiles had Craig breaking down into a harsher fit of laughter. His elbows buckled and he collapsed to the floor with no sign of his hysterics easing. He welcomed the cool touch of the tiles on his boiling cheeks. 

Laying flat on his stomach, Craig began to trace the groves between the tiles. The action only helped to slightly calm his cackling. He imagined the grooves filling with water, like little motes.

Craig was suddenly, with harsh force, flipped onto his back, totally stifling his random manic fit. He had to blink hard as the florescent lights from the ceiling invaded his vision. A figure quickly appeared and loomed over him, fully blocking the light. 

Kenny’s baby blues stared down at him. He was smiling and shaking his head slightly, like a mother scorning her child yet still finding the amusement in what they had done. The light that flooded from behind Kenny’s head framed his face in a way that made him look angelic; he was absolutely glowing, radiating an aura of safety and warmth. Craig wondered if he had died and gone to heaven.  


“Am I dead?” Craig asked, blinking harshly. Earlier he was so sure he wouldn’t end up dying, it seemed as though he owed Cartman an apology.

Kenny chuckled. “You’re not dead, just having a great time apparently.”

“You look like an angel.” Craig reached out to touch Kenny, he had to touch him. His fingers itched for the heavenly contact. Kenny grabbed onto Craig’s wrists and helped pull him into a sitting position. He was still lightly smiling to himself but didn’t respond to Craig’s comment.

“I lost you man. I was worried. It’s been two hours since I’ve seen yah.” Kenny laced his arms under Craig’s in a sort of weird side hug. 

Craig enjoyed a good hug occasionally from the right person. Kenny was definitely the right person. He tried to hug back but Kenny’s weird hug was apparently only for leverage as he hauled Craig to his feet. He tried not to look completely dejected upon realization.

From the instant he stood, Craig could feel his knees giving out. Kenny likely noticed as well because he slung Craig’s arm around his shoulder and swiftly sat him back down in the chair Kyle had graciously left for him. 

Kenny lowered himself to his knees to be at eye level with Craig, similarly to how he himself had earlier faced Stan.

“Kenny, who fuck is this? He’s been acting like a complete moron for the past godforsaken hour.” 

Kyle looked extremely irritated. His eyebrows were clenched together, and his cheeks grew as red as his hair. 

“He’s on ‘E’, dude,” Kenny began, “I mean, its some pretty stepped on shit so I’m sure it’s laced with some other garbage, but it’s mostly ecstasy.”

“Oh, I know, he told us that much,” Kyle seethed. “Who is he and why’d you give it to him? Especially if you weren’t one hundred percent sure what the fuck was in it?”

“He looked bored out of his mind when I found him. I just wanted him to have a good time,” Kenny said, raising his hands in a sign of surrender. “I’ve taken it before and we’re about the same size so I knew he wouldn’t die or anything!”

“I am having a good time!” Craig quipped into the argument. He didn’t care what kind of drug Kenny had given him, he was happy and that was all that had mattered right then. 

The blond smiled meekly at him as he rested a firm hand on Craig’s shoulder. Kenny’s hand felt heavy, almost crushing in its weight. The heat of his palm sent chills reverberating through to Craig’s core.  


Kenny shook Craig’s shoulder lightly, bringing Craig’s attention back toward him. “Have you had anything to drink?” he asked, genuine concern displayed in his tone.

“He’s had a cup of vodka if that counts,” Kyle grumbled before Craig could speak.  


“Dude, you let him do that?” He seemed shocked anything stupid could ever happen under Kyle’s watch.

“I’m not his fucking babysitter. He just kinda drank a cup. And I’m not exactly sober. That’s your job actually,” Kyle quickly snapped back, his finger jabbed toward the blond dangerously close to his nose.

Kenny turned his head back to face Craig, completely ignoring Kyle’s increasing rage. “You’re gonna crash pretty hard now bud,” he sighed as he gave him what could only be described as a reassuring smile. 

“Here, I grabbed him a water bottle too when I got one for Stan.”

Kyle then tossed a water bottle towards Kenny. Kenny fumbled with the bottle for an instant before successfully securing his grasp.

It was a regular looking water bottle, but after a moment of staring Craig noticed small particles swimming and spinning about the liquid. The bottle was brimming was a colony of sea people. His eyes lit up as he noticed them waving at him. He couldn’t drink sea people, he didn’t want to have murder on his conscious.

“Hey, hey,” Kenny began, lightly tapping Craig’s cheek. Two cold fingers brought his attention back toward the blond. “Can you drink this for me?” 

Craig glanced back at the bottle. It had somehow been placed into his left hand. 

He inspected it for a moment. The sea people had disappeared within the second he had looked away. He wondered if they could perhaps sense danger. If they were gone, he had no issue with drinking it.  


Craig began to twist off the cap of the bottle. He needed two hands to bring the beverage toward his lips. His hands shook so violently that the water spewed everywhere except into his mouth. Kenny quickly snatched the drink from his hands before he could slosh anymore onto the tiles below. 

“Okay, well, I’m gonna help you then.” 

Kenny used one hand to cup Craig’s chin and lifted the bottle toward his chapped lips. Water dribbled past the sides of Craig’s mouth, dripping onto his shirt as well as Kenny’s hands in the process. 

The blond seemed adamant of having him drink the entirety of its contents, his eyes squinted in concentration as he fed him the beverage. When he was finished drinking, Kenny placed the empty bottle onto the floor and moved to rest his now wet hands on Craig’s knees. 

“You know this would be easier if I knew your name.”

“You don’t even know his fucking name?!” 

Kenny swiftly elbowed Kyle in the stomach at his outburst. He then gestured for Craig to speak, dismissing Kyle’s groans of pain. Craig had forgotten the ginger was even there.

“Ugh, I’m taking Stan to his room,” Kyle sputtered as he recovered from Kenny’s ruthless jab. 

Kyle expertly tossed a passed-out Stan onto his back and trudged out of the kitchen. Craig could have sworn that Stan was awake not five seconds earlier.

“Craig. I’m Craig Tucker,” he babbled. An unexpected rush of energy burst past his lips and he suddenly felt compelled to tell Kenny everything about himself, “I’m turning twenty at the end of this month. I’ve got a little sister. Her hair is red and—”

“Okay Craig, slow it down.” Kenny cut him off, chuckling at his ramblings, “Can you tell me who you came with?”

“My friends, Clyde and Token.” 

Kenny’s shoulders noticeably relaxed. “Oh, Donovan and Black, yeah I know them, they’re cool,” he spoke and stood from his place on the floor. “I think Clyde is passed out on the couch right now so he can’t exactly take care of you.” Kenny then grabbed Craig’s hand and pulled him up to stand. He felt more stable when he stood that time, no faltering. “Let’s go find Token. Sound good?”

“Uh huh,” Craig replied dumbly. He was more focused on Kenny’s fingers interlacing with his own. Kenny’s hands were rough but not uncomfortably so. 

Craig gripped Kenny’s hand in his clammy clutch as they began to walk out of the kitchen. He was scared if he let go Kenny would sprout his angel wings and fly away. If that were to happen then Craig would surely get eaten by the house like in that one movie. He didn’t want to get eaten.

Kenny dragged Craig through the living room. There were still a ton a people in the house but significantly less than when he had first arrived. The coloured lights bounced around Kenny’s face, which lit up his eyes and made his hair glow. The lights easily looked better on him than it did on the blonde girl he had danced with earlier.

For the umpteenth time that night, Craig was transfixed by the allure of the lights. He couldn’t look away from their movement across Kenny’s sharp features. 

His eyes roamed through each line and dent on Kenny’s skin until they settled briefly atop his blond locks. Craig wondered what Kenny’s hair would feel like between his fingers. Soft, he assumed. He wanted to touch Kenny’s hair and spin him around on the dance floor, but the sober wouldn’t stop plowing through the crowd. To retaliate, he did the only logical thing he could think of.

Craig harshly shook his hand out of Kenny’s light grip and shoved both hands deep into the blond’s hair.

Kenny yelped at the sudden contact and turned around on the spot, face full of confusion. Craig’s hands only experienced a momentary release before diving right back into Kenny’s glowing head of hair. He began to pet Kenny’s head and spin strands of silky-smooth locks between his fingers. It was even softer than he had originally thought.

“Let’s dance,” Craig blurt suddenly. 

Kenny’s confused expression shifted into that of amusement. “Okay, but you have to let go of my hair.” Kenny grinned as he brought his hands up to his head and gently pried Craig’s fingers away.  


Craig beamed at Kenny’s response. He was overjoyed that he had agreed to dance. If Craig smiled any harder, he was positive his jaw would fall off. Smiling quickly made him realize his teeth were grinding again. The throbbing of his gums told him that he had likely been doing it for a while.

He didn’t want Kenny to notice his teeth grinding—it would probably distract from the dancing that was about to commence, and frankly, he felt that it was mildly embarrassing.  


Craig did what he had done earlier when the same issue arose, he shoved the neck of his shirt into his mouth and chewed. 

Kenny immediately burst into laughter.

“D-Don’t do that,” Kenny panted while he recovered from his brief, but harsh moment of laughter. “You’ll ruin your shirt.” 

Kenny tugged Craig’s shirt out of his mouth, a string of saliva followed as he did so. Craig hastily wiped his chin. 

“Forgot to tell you that molly makes you grind your teeth sometimes, chew this instead.” Kenny then produced a pack of gum from the back of his jeans pocket and popped one of the minty squares out of its seal. 

Craig took the gum and tossed it into his mouth without a second thought. Taking things from Kenny without question was what allowed him to have fun in the first place after all. 

“Do you still wanna dance or should we be finding Token?”

Rather than voice his reply, Craig wiggled his eyebrows and shimmied his shoulders, which enticed another chuckle out of Kenny. 

“Dancing it is then, but not for long. I want to find your friends, so they know you’re alright.” 

They danced together for a while, laughing but not talking. Even off his ass, Craig could still recognize good dancing when he saw it. Kenny was really good—everything about Kenny was really good when he thought about it. 

Kenny’s hair was soft, his eyes sparkled, his voice was salutary and calming, his skin was flawless, and his face was chiseled by the Gods. Kenny was fucking hot as hell, and it only took Craig taking a step back to admire his body moving to realize it. 

Some part of him had certainly known he was attracted to Kenny hours ago; he had just finally succumbed to admission.

In his admiration Craig stopped his movements. He needed the complete stillness of his own body to properly focus on Kenny’s. 

“What? You done dancing now?” Kenny asked as he slowed his gyrations to a halt.

“You’re just so hot I don’t know what to do,” Craig breathed, wide eyes darting back and forth along Kenny’s sharp and jutting features. The itch to touch Kenny came back full force, but the feeling was slightly different than before—there was fire behind it now.

“Why I’m honoured.” Kenny chuckled and gave a small mock bow. “You’re not so bad yourself Tucker.” 

That was invitation enough for Craig. He tossed his arms around the others unsuspecting shoulders and aggressively latched his lips onto his neck. Kenny gasped as Craig trailed kisses along his jugular and sucked at the supple, sensitive skin.

“C-Craig,” Kenny choked out. Craig hummed into his neck in response. 

Kenny’s skin tasted salty with sweat and it mixed with the mint from the gum still in his mouth, but Craig didn’t mind. His senses were overwhelmed, and his mind was reeling with images of Kenny in compromising positions. 

“Craig,” Kenny said again, but with more firmness, a warning, almost.

Craig worked his way up behind Kenny’s ear and shifted to bite at his lobe. Kenny let out a low grunt of satisfaction, which only fueled Craig further. “Let’s fuck,” he whispered. 

As he moved to suck on the others jaw, Kenny brought up his hands to block Craig’s face. Craig was momentarily confused but began to suck on Kenny’s fingers within an instant of the appendage’s appearance. 

“No, Craig. You gotta stop, you’re high and fucking drunk. You don’t know what you’re doing.” Kenny pulled his fingers from Craig’s mouth with a slick pop. Craig’s shoulders slouched, he let out a small whine in protest. 

Kenny gently removed Craig’s now limp arms from around his shoulders and held onto his wrists tightly. “Look, I’m really enjoying this, like really enjoying this, but I’m not gonna take advantage of you Craig.” Kenny looked directly into his eyes as he explained. “You’re too fucked to consent to anything.”

“But I want too.” Craig didn’t understand. If Kenny was also having a good time they shouldn’t have to stop.

“I’ll tell you what,” Kenny sighed, he ran a hand through his hair as he spoke. “If you still wanna do this when you’re sober, we can.” He reached into the front pocket of his pants and pulled out his phone. “Can you remember your number?” 

Craig could, in fact, remember his number. He rattled off his digits with minor fumbling as Kenny punched it into his phone. 

“Make sure you put the dancing lady, the ice-cream cone, and the hamster head emoji next to my name.”

Kenny chuckled at the strange request and quirked his brow in response. “And why is that exactly?” he asked.

“The lady ‘cause dancing was fun, the ice-cream ‘cause I want ice-cream right now, and the hamster ‘cause it’s the closest they have to a guinea pig.” 

“Got it.” 

Kenny smiled as he added the requested emoji. Craig’s phone vibrated in his pocket, he instantly pulled it out. He received a text from an unknown number, the message merely read the blond’s name.  


“Make sure you add the eggplant and water squirt next to mine.” 

Craig successfully added the emoji’s as he created the contact despite the keyboard blurring slightly throughout the process. He also added the smiling angel face with the halo, but he didn’t find that important enough to share with Kenny.

Craig slipped his phone back into his pocket and looked at Kenny excitedly. His smile was blinding; he wanted to kiss those happy lips until they were bruised. Craig approached again, very clearly leaning in. 

“Hey, remember what I said,” Kenny scolded as he took a step back. “Let’s get you that ice-cream instead.” Kenny laced their fingers together for the second time that night and hastily guided Craig back toward the kitchen.

The kitchen was almost completely vacant, save two very drunk girls making out in the far corner. 

Craig could tell he was starting to come down from his high. The party was still fun, and he was still quite elated, but the world around him was gradually losing its intrigue. 

He wanted to ask Kenny for another hit, but his rational subconscious was beginning to bleed through his drugged, drunken haze, and it whispered, that’s a bad fucking idea. Despite feeling that his actions throughout the night had been normal, Craig had a sinking feeling that he wouldn’t feel the same way come the morning.

With that, he decided he couldn’t afford to lose his inebriated state even for an instance.

While Kenny was sifting through one of the refrigerator freezers, Craig sauntered over to the dining table with the intention of drinking out of every single abandoned solo cup he could get his shaky hands on. There were a surprising number of cups left half full and unattended. 

Craig downed the contents of about four semi filled cups before Kenny marched over and swatted the current cup out of his hands. The offending beverage flew across the room before it hit the tile. Luckily, he had just finished the drink so there were no contents to spill.

“What are you doing?” Kenny scolded. He pulled Craig away from the table and toward the counter where he had set out a tub of vanilla ice-cream and two spoons. “Do you wanna die or something?”  


“No, but I don’t want to remember tonight.”

“Why not? You seem like you’re having a great time.”

“I did—am. I am having a great time,” he started as he clumsily jumped to sit on the countertop. “But I-I think I’ll be embarrassed about everything tomorrow and I would fucking hate that so much. I-I just knoooow it.” Craig’s words were beginning to slur, the mysterious alcoholic beverages already began their rapid circuits through his veins. He had drunk a truck load worth of alcohol hardly an hour before and he now had another half litre of who-knows-what to coursing through him to add to the chaotic mix. 

“I just think it might be best that you didn’t try to—I don’t know, purposefully black out.” Kenny reached for the tub of ice-cream, opened the lid, jabbed a spoon into it, and handed said tub to Craig. “Hope you like vanilla.”

Craig took the tub hesitantly. The icy chill of the container sent a shiver through to his boiling core. He pried the spoon out, scooped an absurd amount of ice-cream as he did so, and immediately shoved it through his awaiting lips.

“Oh my God this is so fucking goooooooood,” Craig moaned as he licked his spoon completely clean. 

“Yeah, you’re gonna need more water.”

Kenny turned back toward the fridge and pulled out a cold water bottle. He placed the bottle next to Craig on the counter before sticking his own spoon into the ice-cream. 

Craig couldn’t help but watch as the man across him expertly licked his spoon clean. Kenny’s tongue traversed the spoon in a way that could not have been accidental. He was clearly trying to get a rouse out of Craig, and it was working without fail. A small dribble of ice cream slid down Kenny’s chin; he raised a poised finger to the drip and wiped it clean in one seamless motion.

Craig bit down on his lip hard enough to bruise as he helplessly watched Kenny slowly drag his finger between his lips and lightly suck.

As quickly as it had begun, Kenny stopped his sensual ice cream games and plowed his spoon back into the tub, removing his finger from his mouth in a slow, purposeful motion, as he did so. He pulled the spoon back out of the container, a new mound of ice cream sat ready and mocking.

Mindlessly, Craig jut out his arm and captured Kenny’s writs in a death grip before round two of his arousal could commence. Kenny didn’t move a single muscle, his eyes boar holes through Craig’s as he stared back at him, waiting expectantly.

Craig shuddered at the unexpected intensity of his gaze, the sensation going straight to his groin. He wanted to say something smooth and sexy. Before he could even consider piecing together a suitable line, his lips parted, and the stupidest sentence Craig had ever formulated came barrelling into reality.

“A hot blond and my favourite flavour of ice-cream. It must be my fucking birthday!” he hollered.

Kenny playfully bit at his bottom lip, clearly trying to hold back his growing smile. “No, your birthday is at the end of the month,” he said matter-of-factly.

Craig gasped and released Kenny’s wrist in his momentary surprise. “H-How did you know that?” His eyes widened. His mind quickly forgot his sudden arousal as it began to fill with surprise and confusion.

“You told me that, like, an hour ago, dude! Maybe you won’t remember tonight after all.”

Kenny then took the tub from Craig before he could drop it. He removed the spoon Craig had left jammed inside and tossed it into the sink along with his own. He swiftly returned the ice-cream to the freezer. 

“When’s your birthday?” Craig prodded while Kenny sat himself on the counter next to him. 

He was genuinely curious, and the sober had a nice voice, so that was a bonus. He honestly just wanted Kenny to keep talking. Craig reached for Kenny’s hand and began mindlessly squeezing his fingernails. He felt compelled to just touch him. If he weren’t allowed to do it sexually, he would settle for any form of contact he could get. 

Kenny didn’t retract to the strange gesture. 

“Not ‘til March my friend. I’ll be twenty—guess we’re the same age.”

Craig could remember March. The thought of Kenny being in his life by the time March rolled around flickered through his mind. He hoped their interaction wasn’t a one-night exchange. They had to become friends if Craig wanted Kenny to stick his hands down his pants. Fuck buddies should be friends and friends were supposed to know everything about each other—or at least the basics.  


“What’s your major?” 

“Take a sip of this water and I’ll tell you.”

Kenny picked up the bottle he had left on the counter and passed it to Craig. The drunk reluctantly stopped fiddling with Kenny’s free hand to open the cap. He found it a bit hard to focus on the bottle, his vision was hazy. In his inebriated state Craig couldn’t quite grasp the power of his grip, once he managed to twist off the cap, water came shooting out over his hands in an explosive gush. Kenny immediately jolted himself away from Craig as the water spilled onto the counter they sat atop.

“Man, you don’t have a good track record with water bottles tonight.”

The blond plucked the bottle from Craig’s limp grasp. He chuckled and turned the bottle over in his hands, almost studying it, before taking a slow sip of the barley remaining water. He made eye contact with Craig as he did so. Craig was motioned into silence as he watched the dribble of water pass through Kenny’s perfectly poised lips. As quickly as the moment had begun it was over. Kenny lowered the finished bottle back to the counter.

“See, that’s how your supposed to drink water, dingus.” 

Kenny gave Craig a playful smack on the shoulder before turning toward a cabinet and pulling out a violet tea towel. He soaked it through as he lapped up the puddle of water, tossing it into the sink when he finished. He then swiped a new water bottle from the fridge, unscrewed the cap, and gestured it toward Craig in one fluid motion.

Craig was about to wipe his hands on the dry section of his pants before reaching for the new bottle, but an uncontrollable force of deviance washed over. He then swiftly flicked the water on his fingers in Kenny’s unsuspecting face. 

“Hey!” Kenny yelped. Water shot from the new bottle as he gripped it in surprise, getting both of their shirts thoroughly soaked. “The bottle is half empty now!” 

Craig gave his best innocent expression, as if trying to pretend what had transpired wasn’t his fault.

“Don’t give me that face, you little devil!” Kenny tried to be scolding, but his smile gave him away. Kenny sighed and returned the now half empty bottle to the perpetrator. “Can I trust you to actually drink the rest?” 

Craig nodded and took an innocent sip from the bottle.

“Will you tell me your major nooow?” 

“Visual arts,” Kenny responded as he wrung out the bottom of his sopping shirt into the sink. Craig couldn’t help but watch as he caught a glimpse of Kenny’s shockingly dark happy trail.  


“You know, like design and illustration and junk,” he continued.

Craig managed to bumble through his transfixion. “Sooo you’re, like, an artist then?” 

“Yeah, I’m ‘like’ an artist,” Kenny mocked. 

To Craig’s pleasure and horror, Kenny turned away from the sink and slowly peeled his drenched shirt over his head before tossing into the kitchen sink. The blond did a quick tousle of his hair, a few stray droplets finding a home on the floor as he did so. He turned to face Craig, a hint of a smirk was evident on his lips as he resumed his perch on the countertop.

“That’s hot,” Craig stated bluntly. “Your major I mean. Art is hot. Well and your body, who am I kidding.” 

An image of Kenny painting a canvas while only wearing a little smock flooded his thoughts. Kenny probably looked unbelievably sexy when he was in the zone. Like Leonardo DiCaprio in that movie he couldn’t remember the name of. 

“Paint me like one of your French girls!” Craig laughed as he remembered the iconic line. Craig pumped his fist into the air through his giggling then lay down to rest his head in Kenny’s lap, legs dangling off the end of the counter in a slight swing.

“Haven’t heard that one before,” Kenny sighed sarcastically, lacing his fingers through Craig’s hair. 

Craig closed his eyes at the contact. Kenny’s fingers were like magic. The blond twirled Craig’s hair and rubbed his scalp delicately. The feeling almost soothed him to sleep. He had never let anyone touch him that intimately before. 

The moment was short lived, Craig’s eyes snapped back open as Kenny’s hair twirling turned into persistent pulling. “What?” Craig blinked.

“I asked what your major is.”

“Ooooh.” Craig was so absorbed in Kenny’s gentle touches that he hadn’t even heard him speak. “I’m in—drum roll please,” Craig requested causally. Kenny chuckled and began to smack the free counter space rhythmically. Craig waited a few beats before finishing. “Astrophysics.”

Kenny returned his hands to their place in Craig’s hair, his face reflected one of bewilderment. 

“Shit, so you’re some kind of genius then?” 

“I don’t know about a genius,” he chuckled modestly.

“Clearly. No genius would do drugs and get drunk at some random party.”

He couldn’t deny that. 

“Craig? What the fuck?” a familiar voice cut him off before he could even speak his reply.

“Hey dude,” Kenny started. He pushed Craig’s head off his lap and coxed him back into an upright position, but once Kenny stood, Craig lowered himself back down to the countertop. He wasn’t ready to move just yet. “We were looking for—”

“What the fuck did you give him? He’s obviously fucked,” Token spat, his words were laced heavily with worry. “He looks like he’s spent a week hanging out in a ditch…and why the hell is he wet!?” It was apparent in Token’s concerned, yet irritated demeanour, that he had been searching for Craig for a while.

Craig was a bit taken aback by Token’s tone. He sounded quite angry. He heard the tone before many times, but it was usually in relation to Clyde’s stupidity. 

Kenny spared a glance toward Craig and grimaced at what he could only assume to be his appearance. “Just some molly dude, relax. He’s not gonna die.”

“Yeah Token, you’re not my mom,” Craig added sarcastically.

Token closed his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. He held that pose for a moment, the room fell into a tense silence before he opened them again.

“Listen Kenny,” he rubbed a frustrated hand over his face and took a step closer to the pair. “Clyde’s been in your bathroom puking his guts for the past hour while I’ve been searching for this fool. I thought I was just gonna grab Craig so he could help me with the other idiot. So, you have to understand why I’m kind of pissed off knowing I’m dragging two incapacitated imbeciles’ home—on foot.”

“Woah dude, big words there.” Kenny chuckled. He immediately lost his grin upon noticing Token’s unamused glare. “I’m sorry, but don’t get too mad at Craig here, I gave him the drugs.”  


Token rolled his eyes and crossed him arms. “I figured.”

“I wanna help you out man.” Kenny spared Craig another glance. “Would it be easier if you took Clyde home and Craig stayed here for the night? So you don’t have to deal with both of them?”  
Token’s eyes lit up at the offer, the steam coming out of his ears evaporated instantly. 

“Is that actually okay man? Cause’ that would be amazing.”

“Yeah, for sure. It’s the least I could do for fucking him up.”

“You don’t even know how much of a favour this is. Thanks dude.” It was obvious his thanks were deeply sincere. His shoulders relaxed. “I’ll swing by the house tomorrow with a car to pick him up.” Token started back toward the living room as he cast the sentence over his shoulder. He couldn’t have made it clearer that he needed to leave.

“You need any help with Clyde?” Kenny offered before Token could reach the threshold of the kitchen.

“Nah, he’ll piss me off, but I can handle him. I’ll see you tomorrow and thanks again.” Before Token fully exited the kitchen, he briskly turned on his heel, eyes darting across Craig’s face as he spoke once more.

“Craig?”

“Huh?” he slurred, rolling his eyes in the direction of his tired friend.

“Try not to be an asshole tomorrow when you realize what happened.”

“No promises.”

With a smirk and a shake of his head, Token finally left the room.

There was a moment a silence before Craig found the ability to speak up. His nose crinkled and brows furrowed as he digested the rapid happenings of the last five minutes. “He called me a moron.”

“Indeed he did.” Kenny turned back to him; arms crossed playfully across his still bare chest. “Now let’s get you to bed so I can kick the stragglers out of my house.” 

Kenny approached the drunk smoothly. He lightly tapped Craig’s head; a clear signal to get up.

He didn’t budge. “But I’m comfy here,” Craig whined.

“And you’ll be comfier in a bed.” Kenny place firm hands on his arms and physically moved Craig into a hasty sitting position.

Sitting up straight so quickly made Craig unbelievably dizzy. Nausea hammered through his skull, and within seconds he was puking on one of his favourite t-shirts.

“Shit,” Kenny yelped. He dashed across the kitchen and snatched a paper towel roll, returning to Craig and wiping his face and shirt hastily.

“Sorry,” Craig hiccupped, “I got vomit on your floor.”

“You and everyone else at this party,” Kenny quipped, “It’s fine dude. That was my fault, I shouldn’t have moved you like that.”

Craig didn’t know how Kenny could be so caring. He would personally be seething if their rolls were reversed. He didn’t have the patients for his intoxicated friends let alone a stranger. 

Kenny reached out his hands and Craig graciously took them. He then helped Craig slowly bring himself to a half standing position, mostly leaning his weight onto Kenny as he went.

“Okay,” Kenny began. He started moving in a slow shuffle guiding Craig through the kitchen, kicking miscellaneous cans out of their wake as they went. “I’m gonna bring you to my room and you can crash in my bed tonight.”

Craig nodded in response, far too drained and numb to speak. Standing made his head pound, his limbs felt like Jell-O and he was almost positive he was going to vomit again.

When they finally reached the living room, Craig couldn’t bring himself to take another step let alone stand anymore. The whole room was beginning to tilt in a way that rudely brough back the flare of queasiness.

“I-I can’t,” Craig mumbled, eyes staring blearily at the spinning floor. The tiles looked inviting. He wanted nothing more than to lay his face on them and receive their cool embrace.

Kenny clearly got the queue. He expertly lifted Craig onto his back, much like the way Kyle did with Stan earlier in the night. Craig’s head lulled like a rag doll as Kenny cautiously entered the main party space. Kenny peered over his shoulder periodically. Craig faded in and out of consciousness for an undeterminable amount of time. 

…

The light seeping through the cracks of the blinds caused pain to reverberate throughout his body. His head felt unnaturally heavy on a pillow so thin he could practically feel the hardwood floor beneath. The mattress he laid on was not on a frame, but sheet-less and placed on the floor in the corner of the room directly under a large window.

Through the jarring swell of his aching skull, Craig blearily reached out to feel the icy surface of the floor. He didn’t recognize the room he was in. The floor was a dark hardwood, it starkly contrasted the yellow panelling of the bedroom floor he normally awoke to. 

If the hardwood weren’t enough of an indicator that he was not home, the mattress on the floor would be. He didn’t live like a heathen; his own bed was on a frame.

On a shaky arm and panting breath, Craig forced himself to sit up. The room tilted with his movement and bile quickly rose in his throat. His eyes shot open fully as he franticly scrambled to his knees. He noticed a large baking bowl precariously placed next to the mattress. Craig dove to grab it before emptying his stomach.

He heaved into the bowl. He continued to gag violently long after there was anything left to come up. After what seemed to be ten straight minutes of dry heaving, Craig was forced to stare into the face of his own sick and wonder what the ever-loving fuck had happened the night before.

Sighing heavily, Craig leaned away from the bowl and dragged his head up, cracking each vertebrate in his neck as he did so. He took a long and slow glance around the room, noting the dirty clothes, the empty beer cans and the Xbox hooked up to a decrypted, outdated, box TV. 

His clothes were neatly folded just to the right of the bowl he lost his guts in as well as a tall glass of water and a pill. He sighed in relief as he noted the lack of sick on his jeans and mindlessly gulped down the water along with the presumed aspirin.

Craig looked down at himself, he wasn’t wearing anything he would ever dare own. He was topless and sporting an atrocious highlighter orange pair of sweatpants. Despite the ugliness they were comfier than any pair of sweats he had in his personal collection. 

Miraculously, Craig managed to haul himself to his feet, though he lost his balance and had to lean his weight ono the cracked wall for support. He swiped his clothes from the floor, and using the wall as a guide, he slowly made his way toward the exit.

He quickly decided that he didn’t care where he was or what had happened, his main priority was getting the hell out of whoever’s house he was in. He could already feel the itch of embarrassment making its excruciating crawl to the forefront of his mind.

Nothing like his current situation had ever happened to him before. He had never been so fucked up that he woke up without memory of the previous night in a place he didn’t recognize. He was supposed to be the semi-responsible one; still willing to get a bit messy but always sober enough to make fun of his friends’ drunken antics in the morning. 

Craig cringed as the door creaked open, the noise added to the pain in his throbbing head. Across from the bedroom he exited was the bathroom, the door was wide open and the toilet in view. He had to piss, badly, but the itching embarrassment he noted earlier was pushing through full force along with its buddy, anxiety. He pondered skipping the trip to the bathroom if it meant he were to get home quicker, but before he could stumble down the stairs it dawned on him that he couldn’t leave in someone else’s clothes. 

Weighing out his options, he decided it was actually best to make a restroom stop and change. He wasn’t bringing foreign sweats home with him. If he did, he knew they would be forever buried at the bottom of his dresser drawer, acting as a reminder of his shame.

Craig ducked into the bathroom, not bothering to turn on the light, he a took a piss and changed into his own clothing as swiftly as his aching body would allow. He was likely in more pain than he realized but was in too much of a hurry to get out of the house to focus on in. 

He folded the ugly sweats and sat them on the countertop before making his exit. Hastily opening the door, Craig rushed down the hall, still using the wall for balance as he tripped over his feet.  


He somehow made it to the bottom of the stairs without fall. Craig kept the railing in a death grip as he cautiously took his graceless steps. He’d never thought he’d find himself so hindered by a hangover he’d be struggling to keep his body upright.

Craig surveyed the room briefly before locating the front door. His path was crowded by empty bottles and cans as well as countless stains and unidentifiable spills. The party had clearly been an absolute rager. He momentarily lost himself in a stare down with the raggedy couch and the adjacent disco ball. 

Visions of the party suddenly flooded his mind. Drinking alone on the couch, taking drugs, dancing, being hypnotised by the coloured lights, the mindless shots, the ice cream, Token’s disappointed scowl, and an angel.

“Good morning Mr. party animal, how do you find your hangover on this fine Sunday? Sorry, not morning, it’s 3:00pm.”

Craig’s body went ridged at the sound of his voice. His blood drained from his face while he forced himself to turn. There, standing a foot away was a beaming blond holding what seemed to be a glass of orange juice similarly coloured to the pants Craig woke up in.

Kenny’s grin grew as Craig wordlessly gaped. He chuckled briskly and took a quick swig of his juice.

“I poured you your own glass when I heard you stumble out of my room. It’s on the table. I also got you something to eat if you can stomach it. Hope you like Cheerio’s dude.”

Kenny then disappeared beyond the threshold of the kitchen. He didn’t turn around once, it was like he expected Craig to follow him. For a second, he almost did, before he remembered that he had thrown himself at the blond and sucked his neck like a desperate high school girl less than twenty-four hours before. Craig’s face burst with red hot embarrassment as he shoved the memory to the depths of his mind. He would never live that down.

“Are you coming?” Kenny poked his head out from the kitchen, giving Craig a quizzical brow. Like the flip of a switch his confusion contorted into a grin, partnered with a low chuckle, “Your face is so red right now. Is it all coming back to you? Don’t worry I’ve had my fair share of wild nights. You don’t need to feel embarrassed. Now get in here before your cereal turns to mush.”

Not slipping into the kitchen this time, Kenny waited expectantly in the archway. He shot Craig a quick wink and placed a hand on his hip.

Craig’s face burned so intensely from the gesture that he started seeing stars. For a second, he worried he might pass out, but before he could pounder his ability to stand Kenny moved from his spot, linked Craig’s arm with his own, and guided his way into the kitchen.

Seeing the kitchen without a drug induced haze muddling it was unsettling for Craig. Flashes of the happenings in that room bombarded him like grenades in a warzone. Every spot his eyes landed on he was reminded of his stupidity. The kitchen was filled to the brim with his humiliation, threatening to overflow like the water bottle he had crushed on himself.

Kenny guided Craig to a chair seated at the rickety wooden dining table. He sat himself on the chair adjacent and gently pushed a bowl of slightly soggy Cheerio’s and glass of orange juice toward him. Craig stared blankly into the abyss of milk, not making any indication he would reach for the spoon.

Kenny leaned back in his chair, lifting its front legs off the ground in doing so, never once taking his eyes off the shrinking boy across the table. Craig desperately wished he could vanish, he cursed himself for not walking out of the house when he had the chance.

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” Kenny spoke, lowering the chair’s front legs back to ground level. “Quite the difference from last night I’ll say. You feeling that sick? I can grab you another Advil if you want.”

“N-no, it’s fine.” Craig cringed at the hoarseness of his own voice. He reached for the orange juice and took a swig, hoping it would help ease the scratching in his throat. “I’m just…in pain.”

Kenny smiled as Craig spoke. “You don’t need to tell me that, you seriously look like the last time you slept was maybe five years ago, and that’s a fat maybe.”

Kenny gave Craig a quick up and down glance before leaning his chin in his palm. Craig looked around the room desperate to escape his intrusive gaze, but the sting of the kitchen fluorescent forced his eye’s back down to his cereal.

“You were really something last night. Do you remember much?”

“Yes, unfortunately.”

“Oh thank God, for a second I was worried I’d have to explain why I want to see you again.”

Craig tore his eyes away from the now inedible mush of a breakfast so quickly he nearly gagged from the speed. 

“What?” he sputtered out, not understanding what the hell Kenny could mean. If he were in Kenny’s position, there would be no way he would want to see him again. He practically ruined the party. In fact, being in his own position he didn’t exactly want to see Kenny again. When he looked into is gorgeous eyes it reminded him of nothing but his own idiocy. 

“Why in god’s name would you want to see me again after everything that happened yesterday?”

“Now he’s talking!” Kenny beamed, showing off his gapped front teeth in a grin. Craig hadn’t noticed that in his drunkenness; he thought it suited him. 

“Craig, hanging out with you last night was the most fun I’ve had at a house party since I was seventeen. Not only did you handle your first trip like a champ, but you also absolutely cracked me the fuck up while simultaneously turning me on. Not many people in this world are funny and hot, Craig Tucker.”

He needed to find an escape. His cheeks had turned red more times that morning than in the entirety of his life. He couldn’t believe such a hot guy could be saying that to him.

“You got my number in you phone pretty boy. Remember the emoji’s? I was serious last night, about wanting to do this when you were sober if you were still interested.” Kenny paused for a moment, leaning toward Craig. He licked his lips. “Do you remember that conversation?”

“Uh yes, yup. I-I remember,” he stifled. On a normal day he would have been able to maintain his cold aloof façade. He wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of flustered, nor was he used to being so utterly hungover. He blamed the booze and molly for his current inability to act as himself. 

“So you wanna fuck sometime then?—” Kenny was cut off by three successive knocks at the front door. He immediately rose to his feet, sending Craig a cheeky grin as he did so. “It’s Token here to take you home. I sent him a text when I heard you get up. I figured you didn’t wanna linger for too long.”

Craig sat speechless while Kenny exited the kitchen. He didn’t realize some people felt so comfortable with such bluntness. He himself had been told on many occasions that he was blunt and had little filter, but he still had enough tact to woo someone into bed with him instead of just flat out asking. But he figured someone as smoking as Kenny could get away with it. He had proved that much when Craig felt himself completely elated rather than totally creeped out by the advance.

After a deep breath, Craig finished the rest of his juice and rose to his feet. Kenny was right, he didn’t want to linger. He wanted to leave before a new wave of humiliation washed over him. He had certainly collected a lot of fuel after everything that had gone down.

Feeling a tad more energized and less woozy, Craig walked into the living room without using the wall to guide him. Craig could hear Token thanking Kenny for letting him stay the night. Token stood in the doorway, and upon noticing Craig’s presence, he ushered him over.

“How you feeling man?”

“Disgusting.”

“Yeah that adds up,” Token snickered, “I’ve never seen you that messed up before. You freaked me out a bit.”

Craig squeezed his eyes shut and let out a sigh through his nose. “Can people please stop reminding me.”

“Oh dude, you will never be living this down. I’m so sorry.” Token didn’t sound very apologetic. “Anyways, I better take this oaf home. Thanks again Kenny, I seriously would have been screwed if I had to deal with him and Clyde.”

The two spoke to each other as if Craig were a child being picked up from daycare. It pissed him off, but his eyes were starting to ache from the sunlight tunneling through the open front door. He couldn’t bring himself to come to his own defense.

“Seriously, no worries.” Kenny glanced over his left shoulder, raking his eyes up and down Craig’s body. “He’s welcome anytime.”

The purr in Kenny’s tone was completely unnecessary in Craig’s opinion. 

Craig straitened out his shoulders a bit, trying to look less like a skittish animal and pushed himself toward the exit.

“Thanks Token, but I’m done loitering, let’s leave.”

Token snorted at Craig’s small burst of energy and turned around in the doorway. “Yeah alright, let’s go. Thanks again Kenny.” He tossed the blond a final smile and wave over his shoulder before he bound down the front steps toward his car.

Craig hastily followed; he hadn’t expected Token to leave so quickly. He bumped shoulders with Kenny in his move toward the outside world, but he was stopped by a firm grasp on his wrist before getting even a foot from the door.

“You never did answer my question.” Kenny physically turned Craig back to face him with a single pull. Craig cursed himself for allowing such manhandling, but the flash of anger quickly dissolved when he was faced with that gapped toothed grin. “Will I be seeing you?”

Craig tried his best not to stumble over his discomfort while replying. “Yeah, I’ll—I’m still…interested.”

Not having loosened his grip on his wrist, absolutely beaming from cheek to cheek, Kenny tugged Craig into his breathing space. “Okay sick, this is awesome. I’ll be texting you soon.”

Craig leaned his head back slightly trying his best to avoid any unnecessary ogling in his newly limited personal space. Kenny only took this movement as an invitation to chase, he leaned his head inward, planting a sloppy kiss directly on Craig’s neck.

Craig gasped at the unexpected attack. He stifled a bit of a moan as his mind raced to collect itself. By the time he could manage a coherent thought, Kenny had already pulled away and let out a full body laugh. 

“Wow, your face right now is great dude! That was payback for last night.”

Craig stood there in stunned silence. Kenny had been so unexpectedly aggressive in his advance that it spun Craig into an aroused tizzy. For the millionth time that afternoon Craig could feel the overwhelming heat in his face.

Kenny obviously noticed Craig’s inability to move and placed a delicate hand on his shoulder and spun him around to face the road. 

Token having long entered his vehicle, let out a quick honk of his horn and once again waved him over.

“Token’s been waiting for yah, you better get going.” Kenny purred directly into his ear. “I’ll see you around Craig-o, lemme know if you ever want molly again, I’m your guy.” Kenny landed another swift peck to Craig’s unsuspecting cheek before marching back inside. 

“Oh yeah! Kenny proclaimed, stopping in his tracks before entering his home. “I hope you found my pajamas comfortable. You picked them out yourself.” He closed the front door after himself with a gentle click.

Fists clenched and eyes on the ground, Craig barrelled down the concrete steps from the patio and into the passenger’s side of Token’s car, not daring to spare a single glance behind.

“Let’s go,” Craig mumbled, face turned away from the driver. He pressed his hot cheek to the cool glass of the window, too humiliated and uncomfortably aroused to look his friend in the face.

Token chuckled and silently shifted the car into drive, not once pestering Craig with mundane small talk. The closest thing to a conversation they had was when Craig demanded they pull over so he could vomit up the orange juice he had drank.

By the time they arrived back at their cheaply rented apartment, Craig’s phone had vibrated in his pocket at least seven times. He gracelessly dug for it while Token fumbled with their house keys.  


He dislodged his cell from the depths of his alcohol stained jeans, pressed the home button and squinted at the onslaught of notifications. Someone was relentlessly texting him.

The bright halo clad emoji next to Kenny’s contact name served as another reminder of his indignity.

Craig was hit with another wave of nausea.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. I would love to hear your feedback.


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